Smile, Romano!
by Milk of Awesomeness
Summary: Prussia goes to the World Conference with only one purpose: Ask out his crush! Unfortunately, as the nation realizes, it's harder than it sounds.


**So, this was based off an rp I once did. I really don't know where the other person was going to go with it, but… I ended up with this.**

* * *

It was the World Conference. Prussia, who had come along with Germany, watched as the chaos unfolded. America, France, and England were having a three-way argument, and across from them Denmark was poking a furious Norway in the cheek with a pen.

Prussia was there under the pretense that he was helping Germany out with a presentation, but really Spain had let it slip to him that Romano was the Italian coming to that conference. Not that he really cared about _that_. He just wanted to see France. He hadn't seen him for a few months. Oh, who was he kidding. He glanced up at the Italian for the umpteenth time since the World Conference had started.

In his seat, next to his good friend Canada, he had a good view of Romano. The irritable Italian was right across from him. Prussia's eyes fixated on his curl as Romano turned to snap at Spain, who was trying to give him one of his tomatoes. He watched Romano eat it, jealously towards his best friend started to form. Prussia inwardly cursed.

Of course Spain was nice to Romano. They were practically brothers. Spain had raised the kid. Still… Prussia felt weird watching Romano eat the tomato that Spain had given him. Didn't the kid have his own?

Germany was rubbing his temples at all the yelling. Prussia figured that West would explode soon if he didn't do something first. "Oi, all of you! Shut the hell up! You're giving mein bruder an unawesome headache!"

America, France, and England turned to Prussia in surprise, but the group of blondes sat down anyway. Denmark stopped moving his pen mid-poke. Norway slapped it out of his hands and it flew across the room, hitting Austria in the eye. Prussia chuckled and Hungary glared at him, presumably somehow blaming him for it. Oh, well. She didn't have a frying pan with her, so Prussia wasn't too worried. Germany set his brother an appreciative nod.

America spoke. "I think it's time for a lunch break."

Germany sighed. "Very well. Be back in thirty minutes." As the nation's left, Canada stopped Prussia.

"You better talk to him now. You might not have another chance."

Prussia sighed. "But Canada—" Just then, Gilbird chirped from on top of Prussia's head and flew to Canada's, giving the ex-nation an accusing glare. Apparently, even _Gilbird_ agreed with Canada. That traitor.

Prussia sighed and walked over to Romano. Butterflies fluttered around in his stomach. _Oh, man up,_ he thought to himself. _You're awesome. You can do this._

He sat on top of the table. His leg was right next to Romano's food. Absently, he wondered why the nation ate in the Conference Room. He could've sworn the other nation's lips turned up into a half-smile upon seeing him. They settled back into a frown a half-second later. Prussia wondered if he had just imagined it.

"Hi, Romano!" He grinned.

Romano didn't move his head to look at him, but he spoke. "Ciao, potato." He shoveled a bite of pasta into his mouth.

"Whatcha doin?'"

Romano blushed, but he still didn't move his head to him. "Talking to an albino bastard." Romano said.

 _What a smart-ass,_ Prussia thought. He didn't drop his smile. "I'm not an albino bastard. I'm awesome!"

Romano rolled his eyes. "Whatever idiot." He went back to eating his pasta.

Prussia sat down in the chair next to Romano, once occupied by Spain. "You know, Lovi." Romano glared at the shortened use of his human name. "Lovino," He still glared. "Romano…" His gaze softened, but he didn't reply.

"Italy?"

Romano gasped lightly, but then he smirked and turned to look at the ex-nation. "Yes?"

Prussia raised an eyebrow at the seemingly positive reaction. He would file that away for later. Romano likes being called Italy. He had noticed that Romano didn't seem to appreciate being called Romano during the meeting. He couldn't blame him. He was there representing Italy. Veneziano was called Italy during meetings, he remembered. Hell, he was called Italy all the time.

"You'd be as awesome as me, you know, if you smiled more."

Romano didn't give him even a half smile. Instead, he scowled. "Well, I won't. Not for a jerk like you." He looked back at his half-eaten food.

Prussia wouldn't admit it, but it hurt. He looked at Romano. He wondered if there was somebody that he would give the occasional grin for. Had to be somebody, he reasoned. "For Spain then? Or your brother? And I'm not a jerk!"

Romano looked offended at the notion. "... No... And hell no! Besides, you are a potato jerk and your brother is a macho kraut eater."

Prussia simpered. "Well, I can't speak for my stick-up-the-ass brother but jerks are unawesome and I am awesome therefore I can't be a jerk."

"You _are_ 'un-awesome,' dammit."

That also hurt, but Prussia tried not to let it show. He was too awesome for that. _Okay, Gilbert._ He thought to himself. _You might be overdoing it on the awesomes._ But he couldn't help it. The more nervous or miserable he got, the more he ended up saying it. He turned to Romano in what he hoped looked like mock hurt. "You... Lovi! I know your language is terrible, but that is the worst thing you could ever say!" He started to fake sniffle at him, pretending that he was about to cry.

Slowly Romano's lips started to turn up, and then they snapped back into an indifferent frown. " Ha! The worst thing I could say is that I love you- I mean... That is _if_ I loved you... Which I don't..." Prussia's eyes grew wide as he processed what the other said and translated it into Romano-Speak. His friend Japan—the only other nation that knew of his crush on South Italy besides Canada, West, Veneziano, and possibly France—had helped him in the art in what he called "tsunderes" . "Go away, dumbass!" Romano looked as red as the tomato he had been eating earlier.

Prussia smirked **.** "Sure you don't love me... You know I wouldn't mind if you loved the awesome me, everyone does."

"Arrogant bastard... No one loves you, especially me!" As if to prove his point, Romano crossed his arms over his chest and stuck out his tongue at the ex-nation. Prussia found this somehow hot.

"Yeah, sure. Hey, wanna go out this weekend? You can pick the restaurant?"

Romano spluttered. "I... M-Me...? With... Wait, n-no! I just told you I hate you!"

"Yeah, well, I didn't exactly believe you." Prussia smiled at him. "So will you, Romano. Please say yes." He got up and leaned over the chair that Romano was sitting in, a hopeful grin on his face.

Romano seemed to hesitate. "No."

"But why not... I'm awesome, and you're awesome…" He bit his lip and almost lost the courage to say the next part. "And well, maybe, possibly, you're just a little more awesome than me?"

Romano went silent for a little while. "Are you paying bastard."

"Of course, _Italy_."

Romano gave him maybe 1/16th of a smile. It was a start at least. "Then si, I guess I might consider it."

"Awesome." Prussia leaned down and caught Romano's lips in his, surprised when the nation, gingerly, kissed him back.


End file.
